In the end, sneaking away is easier than Randy would've thought. There are plenty of closed doors in the hallway, opening to conference and meeting rooms of all sizes. All Randy has to do is to look out for those doors that aren't marked with a sign saying "Rise 'n' Shine" or something similar con-related. He tries the unmarked doors carefully and they're locked - all but one.

"hallway, last door on the left" is what Randy texts Gale once he's inside the small room. It seems to be some kind of extra storage space. Besides two tables put on top of each other and a stack of chairs, there's not much to be seen - but aah, so much to be done, Randy thinks.

Gale's knock is soft, shy almost, but Randy knows that's just him; typical Gale, always all silent wonder at first. Randy lets him enter, then closes the door and bolts it - now all doors are locked and they won't be disturbed.

Gale looks around for a moment. He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it aside. His cap is next to go, revealing a mop of unstyled hair. He grins down at Randy. "I remember that part," he says. "Always some hallway, always you sniffing out that one little secret room to sneak into."

Randy can't help but grin back at him. "I'm just glad I still know how to. It's been a while."

"No," Gale says, "Not a while. It's been too long. Too fucking long," and his lips come crashing down on Randy's, who's thrown a little off balance thanks to the very sudden, yet welcome assault on him.

Gale's kisses are wet and sloppy, kind of uncoordinated and random, they remind Randy of a teenager giving this whole kissing thing a tentative try. Randy smiles inwardly, because, this, also, is so typical Gale, being so lost in the moment, so surprisingly sexy, so never knowing what's next, and Randy think that yes, it has been too fucking long, indeed.

He also thinks he shouldn't be doing this, letting himself get somewhat urgently tongue-fucked by his ex colleague, dear friend and... what? Not boyfriend (never has been, never will be, never... needs to be, really) - that spot is filled at the moment, and besides, Randy just shouldn't, he should know better, should've grown up by now and be able to resist and stop playing these games and just be all mature about it andandand... fuck it all.

It's Gale. And in some way, that's all that matters right now. It's all that makes sense, actually.

Randy feels Gale's beard all around his mouth and on his cheeks, it's softer than he'd imagined it to be. Randy is stubbly himself, but Gale looks really scruffy and rough, and even though Randy knows the look is work related, he's pretty damn sure it's a welcome distraction for Gale from his own pretty self. From his clean shaven, impeccable, perfectly beautiful self. From his Brian self.

And Randy couldn't care less. He might tease Gale later on, during the panels maybe. Maybe not. It doesn't matter what he looks like, what he acts like, it doesn't even matter what a mess his hair has turned into under that cap. Randy knows it's Gale he's with. He knows it because Gale's hands move down on Randy's torso and eventually rest at his hips, fingers digging into his sides, marking him. Randy remembers this:

It was a week they'd spend almost completely in bed (on set), always making out (in character), always turning each other on (pretending to), always wearing the fucking disgrace of a cocksock (humiliating in its own way) and always, always, constantly trying to will down their erections (toughest job ever). Because no matter how professional he is, there's work and there's work, and being naked and so close to Gale, being instructed to touch him yet not being able to really do it, became Randy's biggest professional challenge (it still is, even after all these years - nothing afterwards ever required that much restraint). But he succeeded. It was tough, but he managed. Gale - not so much. It wasn't anything anybody else would've noticed. It wasn't visible to the crew; it certainly wasn't visible on screen. But once every now and then, Gale's hands would be at Randy's hips, and he'd dig his fingers into the flesh, just the tiniest bit. But Randy always felt it. And he always knew that this was the moment when the pretense of BrianFuckingJustin became the reality of GaleMarkingRandy. They never talked about it. There was no need. Randy knew. He knew all the variations of Gale kissing, touching, stroking in and out of character. And he knew the fingers digging into his hips was the one line Gale crossed every so often.

So it's still Gale's hands that set Randy apart, Gale's hands on his hips, fingers digging into him. Randy moans and closes his eyes. For a brief moment, he allows himself to be back there, back then. He feels Gale rubbing against him, and, behind closed eyelids, sees him wearing a charcoal suit with a matching tie, while he himself is dressed in a tight T-Shirt, his hair very short and very light, both of them young and eager and making out forever and a day. Time was a luxury back then.

Randy feels his face tingling, no thanks to Gale's beard, opens his eyes and is back in the here and now, where time is a concept filed somewhere between "lack of" and "not enough."

Gale works Randy's pants, and once it's all out there in the open, he gets down and unceremoniously takes Randy in his mouth. "Uh," is the noise Randy makes, because it does feel different for a moment, unfamiliar even. It's as if Randy slowly recalls a dream he woke up to; not remembering any details, just a general feeling of this was wonderful. And then Gale remembers and falls into a rhythm that once was the central beat of Randy's sex life.

Gale licks and sucks and hums a bit, and Randy knows, just knows the exact moment Gale will reach for his balls and cup them. He knows when Gale will flatten his tongue and give the underside of Randy's cock a fat, wet lick from root to top. He knows the next thing Gale will do is tease the slit and lap up the precum. And then, then, Gale will do this thing with his tongue Randy's always been so very fond of, this series of short, fast licks followed by some serious, serious sucking and Randy looks down and sees Gale's hollowed cheeks - no beard in the world could hide that sight - and it's all too much. Randy pants and comes in Gale's mouth, fast and urgent like a twelve year old jerking off to some worn out black and white gay porn mag.

"God," Randy says, watching Gale rise in front of him, his throat still working, swallowing. "God, Gale. This... this. Wow. I'd almost forgotten."

Gale smirks. "Bullshit. You didn't. If I didn't, and I haven't had any of this since, how could you?"

Randy chuckles softly. Of course he remembers. He's still too dizzy from his furious climax to straighten himself up, but what he can do is put a hand on Gale's neck and carefully pull down his head until he can kiss him and taste himself on Gale's tongue. Gale kisses him back, lazily and languidly, sighing into Randy's mouth, silently begging for more.

It's a wish Randy is eager to fulfill. His memory is back with a vengeance. He breaks the kiss and slightly leans back, just so to give Gale the room to look down (Gale likes to watch, likes to see what's going on, what Randy is doing to him). Randy yanks open Gale's pants, tears them down no more than necessary (Gale likes this notion of entrapment), spits into his palm and closes his fist around Gale's erection (Gale has a thing for Randy's hands in general and Randy's hand on his cock in particular). Randy remembers the perfect rhythm of his strokes and the required amount of pressure of his fist. He remembers the small breaks in between to suck on his thumb, get it really wet, and stroke it across the head of Gale's cock again and again.

And the noises Gale makes, god, as if he could ever forget those. Gale moans and pants and grunts and watches all the time and Randy knows that ten, twelve years ago, he would've gotten hard again just because of these sounds and Gale's eyes on him.

Randy jerks Gale off the way he loves it most - stopping shortly before the point of no return. It's Randy's turn to get down then, to finish Gale off with his mouth. It's a ritual from days long gone: a blowjob for Randy and a hand job with an oral finale for Gale. It was a lunchtime thing, a "take between takes.” it was the quickest way for both of them to come fast and with as little mess as possible. It's as if all these years in between never happened.

Gale comes down Randy's throat, which is a bigger thrill than Randy had anticipated. He swallows it all, way, way too eager and grateful, and he thinks that he couldn’t have asked for a better pay off for this convention.

Afterwards, they allow themselves two more minutes of lazy kissing and soft touching.

"See?" Gale eventually says, "too fucking long."

"Yeah. Most definitely. We had good times, didn't we?

"We sure had." Gale stretches and carefully disentangles himself from Randy. "I'm just afraid this time's up now."

"Sometimes I wish..." Randy leaves the sentence unfinished.

"Well, Dorothy, we're not in Toronto anymore," Gale says and playfully slaps Randy's ass. "So get ready to rise and shine once more. C’mon, let’s grab a coffee and---"

Randy hates himself for making Gale fall silent and looking at him all confused and worried. This wasn't part of the plan, not that there has been any kind of plan at all, but whatever Randy had thought about this day with Gale, it had never involved him making a fool of himself, of letting a wave of sudden and most unexpected nostalgia crush right over him and Gale noticing it.

Gale hugs him, hard. "You know," he says, "next time I'm in New York, just fucking agree to meet up. Next time you're here, let me know. And we'll hook up. I'd love that. You'd love that. Fuck everything else."

Gale always makes it all sound so fucking easy, and Randy always thinks it never is. But maybe that's the one thing he should forget every now and then.